


treasure

by peppermintteababy



Category: ATEEZ (Band), K-pop
Genre: ATEEZ - Freeform, Brothers, I like this concept so much I might write more, Long time in the making, One-Shot, don't take that as gospel, enjoy??, for my girl Gracie, i wrote this in two days tho, idk how to tag, inspired by answer, inspired by say my name, it might take ages, signs - Freeform, this is not the end (maybe)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23613796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintteababy/pseuds/peppermintteababy
Summary: a one-shot inspired by the "say my name" and "answer" music videos.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	treasure

Treasure. That’s what Wooyoung’s father called this. There were only seven, he said, seven immortals.

Here was one, standing before him, trapped in a cage of glass, induced to submission by the gas within. He was a boy, only his age, perhaps almost eighteen, just the same as himself. He was a prisoner and he would never escape, his father said. Don’t let him speak to you; don’t let him steal your soul to keep himself alive.

That’s what immortals will do. They will steal your life to increase the length of their own.

But this one couldn’t do anything. He stood, gazing languidly through the foggy glass, his eyes neither focusing nor going completely out of concentration. He looked as if he wanted to say something, his slanted eyes blinking slowly and his thin lips opening ever so slightly.

Wooyoung stepped back at the sound of a door in the hallway beyond shutting. The firm resound of its closure echoed for a moment in the room before fading to nothing. The statuettes and flags around the room absorbed the sound.

The boy within the glass cage looked up, his neutral expression a flawless capture of the word Father used to describe him.

His father called Wooyoung’s name, obviously searching for where he was. It must almost be time to leave for the Signs. The boy within the glass cage raised a hand and leaned forward against the glass, as if trying to see through a window into darkness. Wooyoung stepped back again, fear spiking up his neck and prompting him to flee, and turned to run back out into the main hall of his house. The door slammed behind him, a little stronger than he intended, but he was already many paces away from the door to his father’s trophy room.

“Son,” his father found him in the front entry. He stood, tall and intimidating, dressed in black and grey, like an old picture of a military officer. His hands were empty, which meant the pocket notebook he was required to bring for the Signs was somewhere on his person. Wooyoung had remembered to stuff his own, newly bought notebook into the back pocket of his black jeans.

As they exited the house without so much as a word to Wooyoung’s mother, he felt significantly more conspicuous than he would have if he had gone to the Signs on his own. His father had insisted on going on the same day as he, in order to walk him through the ropes. At eighteen, this would be Wooyoung’s first time attending the Signs, a mandatory assessment and census at the same time asked of the city’s residents.

Figuring he should thank his father for at least putting aside time to guide him through the process, Wooyoung opened his mouth, and yet, even though he was grateful for his father’s attention and care, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. The silence they held between them was too heavy. The Signs was too serious to talk about outside of its designated building. Wooyoung could feel the solemnity in his father’s gait.

When they stood before the Signs, a tall building with windows lining the walls like a room of mirrors, more modern than any of the mansions in his neighborhood, his father finally spoke.

“They will separate us,” he said. “You will stay on the first floor. I will go up to the seventh.”

“Yes,” Wooyoung knew this. But what to expect within the building itself, he did not. Wooyoung had no older brothers to tell him about the Signs in the dark before they fell asleep. He had no younger siblings to wonder aloud with at mealtimes when their parents were conversing in the kitchen. The only one he could truly talk to, was the immortal. The treasure in his father’s trophy room. And the immortal never spoke back. “What do I have to do?”

“They will guide you. Just sit down and follow their instructions.”

His father took the first steps up to the great glass doors and Wooyoung followed behind dutifully. The handle of the door felt cold, as did the flush of air released on them when the glass doors opened fully. Compared to the warmth they had come from, the inside of the Signs building was freezing. The sun could not penetrate through the dark windows. The warmth was prohibited from entering or even exiting, remaining outside, and for the first time, Wooyoung wondered if this is how the immortal felt.

The entrance room was small, with no furniture to decorate the white space and no texture to warm up the cold walls. There was a single door to their right and what seemed to be an elevator to their left.

“Through there,” Father gestured to the right hand door.

Wooyoung eyed the door, and then regarded the elevator with the same wariness. Would his father go into that elevator when he left or before? How long did the Signs take? Would he wait for him if his first time took longer than Father’s thirtieth? Wooyoung did not have to breathe a word for his father to understand his hesitance.

“I will wait for you.”

“I will wait for you as well,” Wooyoung returned hopefully. Perhaps his first Signs would go so well, he would be out before his father. Perhaps.

Father headed towards the elevator before Wooyoung built up the courage to walk towards the door. The sliding metal doors closed behind him, allowing Wooyoung only a half a long look at his back before it took him up and away into the heights of the Signs building.

Wooyoung was left alone.

He shut his eyes for a half a moment, puffed a deep breath out of his lungs, and walked up to the door on his right. The door itself was unassuming and plain, but what lay behind it, the unknown, frightened him enough that his hand shook as it reached out for the knob.

The door opened without a sound and the well-lit room beyond disappointed the expectations he had. Some beast he must fight or a princess he must woo was what his childish imagination teased him with, but within the room, smaller than the entry room itself, was a construction of chairs and grey screens. They lay in the center of the room, stools set on a raised dais with something like a table and cloth screens separating one side of the table from the other.

Wooyoung could see black legs and black boots crossed just behind the screens, but he could not see the owners’ faces. As he came closer, he saw more and more glimpses of the people sitting on the other side of the table. There were four of them; they wore black face masks that covered their mouths and noses. Only their black eyes pierced through the thin screens set up between them. In addition, they wore black wide-brimmed hats, fedoras, he thought.

"Take a seat,” one of the persons said. Their voice was low and neutral, without any indication of tone or emotion.

He took the far right seat, the closest to the exit. “Will there be more…” he began.

Just then, the door he had entered through opened with a small woosh of air, and a boy about his age stepped through. The boy had dark, natural-coloured hair like himself, styled in a similar wave that fell over his left eye. He wore dark clothes like Wooyoung did, but his shirt was a creamy white instead of grey. The boy tugged at his collar, the ribbon tied around his neck fluttering with the pull.

When the boy’s gaze finally fell upon Wooyoung, his eyes lit with relief. Not recognition, Wooyoung noted. He did not know this boy, but certainly, they could take solace in each other’s nervousness. This must also be his first Signs.

Two others followed through the door a few minutes behind the first boy. They were twins, with lighter brown hair and soft blue eyes. They wore tan breeches and red belts, matching their dark red blouses. 

Once all four of them had been seated, the voice of the first who had spoken to Wooyoung said, “Place your notebooks on the table.” They did so. Each person, sitting across from the four boys, took the notebooks and set them to the side. They pushed a stack of papers across the table and a moment later four inkwells and fountain pens followed.

The boy with a ribbon around his neck caught Wooyoung’s eye and gave a wane smile. He was just as nervous as Wooyoung was. Neither of them said anything.

When Wooyoung looked down to the papers set before him, a million thoughts flashed through his mind. What was he supposed to write? Would what he wrote be judged according to his own abilities or the performance of the others beside him? What was the purpose of this test?

Only Wooyoung seemed clueless as to what they were doing here. The four other boys began writing immediately, only looking up once and a few moments to eye their proctors across the table.

Wooyoung couldn’t take his eyes off of the person sitting across from him though. There was something familiar about him, and he couldn’t tell what it was. The mask obscured the majority of his face and the wide-brimmed fedora shadowed his eyes. He could not see them clearly, but half of him was thankful for that. While he was alright with his parents watching him write, observing the way he held the pen and judging his formation of the letters, he wasn’t accustomed to another doing so. It felt less personal if he could not see enough to recognise who this person sitting across from was.

While the others wrote, busily scratching their pens and dipping into the ink every few seconds, Wooyoung took the time to study the place set across from him. While his side of the table was nearly completely clear aside from the stack of blank paper, the place of the person across from him was disorganised and dotted with scraps of paper and thick splashes of ink. Several stacks of paper filled with black handwriting sat on the floor around their feet, bound together with brown string. The appearance of their side of the table may have merely meant they had gone through too many first Signs, but Wooyoung felt there was something more to it.

“Write.” Now, Wooyoung was sure the person across from him was a man, or at least, a boy. His voice was deep enough to warrant the suspicion.

“What do I write?” Wooyoung asked, hoping his quiet tones would be overlooked by the other boys. It’s one thing to be a fool, and another to prove it by speaking aloud.

“Anything,” came the nearly inhuman tone. There was no judgement or annoyance in their tone, just the word, and the word alone.

Okay, you can do this, Wooyoung told himself. Write anything, anything at all. He picked up the fountain pen, dipped it into the inkwell, and began to write.

  
  


_It started at twilight two years ago. I found my father’s trophy room, and I began spending more and more time there. It wasn’t the busts or the tapestries that interested me, but rather the live prize trapped within a glass cage. I wondered, what was this boy doing here? What did he do to deserve this fate? When did he come and what put him behind the glass that kept him from the rest of the world? But most of all, I wondered why. Why was he here? among collections of awards and laurels._

_I asked Father about him. He said, “that boy is an immortal. He belongs behind bars, but we have allowed him to stay within our homes.”_

_“Why?” I asked him._

_He merely said, “He is an immortal.”_

_It took me months to figure out what he meant by that. Rumours around school and stories of the other immortals. They could steal your soul and use your last years of life to prolong their own existence._

_That didn’t stop me from visiting the immortal. Yes, I was and am afraid. I do not want to die. And yet, something draws me to this being. His sleepy eyes and relaxed form. He looks so peaceful, despite his imprisonment._

_I almost want to_

  
  


“Stop,” came the proctor’s voice. Gone was the tonelessness; it was sharp and angry now.

“But I’m not-” Wooyoung began.

“I said stop.”

All three boys beside him looked up and stared at Wooyoung. He could feel his cheeks getting warm.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Go home.”

“What?”

“Leave!”

Wooyoung jumped up from the table. His fountain pen dropped from his hand onto the floor, splattering its rich black ink all over the white floor. The light seemed to shine more brightly now, setting the white walls and floor aflame. He backed up, eyeing the three other first Signs and the four people sitting on the other side of the table. He must have done something wrong. His father never implied something like this would happen. 

His eyes hurt all of a sudden. He wanted to rub at them and allow them to leak tears down his cheeks. But they were still watching, and they watched until his hand touched the door handle and he pulled it open. Then, they turned back to their tasks and acted as though he had never been there. He put his back to them and left the door to close soundlessly behind him.

Wooyoung ran all the way home.

Confusion pumped adrenaline into his mind, setting off circuits that suggested the most impulsive and dangerous actions. He retired to his room without a word to his mother and fell into a restless sleep.

He woke up several times during the night, and on the fourth time his eyes flashed open with the words of the monotone proctor echoing about the room, his father stood over him. Father regarded him curiously, and something beneath his neutral expression spoke of disappointment and confusion. Not as strong as Wooyoung’s own confusion, but just there enough to unsettle him.

Wooyoung sat up straight and brushed his bangs away from his eyes. “Father,” his voice came out rough and emotional. “I’m so sorry. I forgot and I left without waiting for you.”

“It’s alright, son.”

That was all Wooyoung heard before he fell asleep again, pressed back down to his pillow by strong hands that lingered on his forehead.

The eighth time his eyes opened, they stayed open. He could feel his body protesting, the soreness in his lungs and the ache in his muscles. It was too early to be awake. The sun was still beneath the horizon.

Wooyoung could not get himself to fall asleep again. He shut his eyes fast and counted the seconds that passed, but with every handful of seconds, he felt more and more awake. After three minutes of lying still and breathing slowly to counter the unexplained excitement in his veins, Wooyoung sat up and threw back the blankets. He pulled a pair of warm socks on his feet and padded out of his room til he stood before the door to his father’s trophy room.

“Why am I here?” he murmured, his hand on the door knob.

He entered.

It was just the same as he had left it, each statuette in place on its pedestal, each tapestry and flag hanging from the arches around the room. And the gem-shaped enclosure, just wide and tall enough for the person within to stand. 

The immortal seemed to be sleeping. His eyes were closed and his hands by his sides were balled into relaxed fists. Wooyoung remained by the door, simply watching for a long moment. The boy’s clothes were ancient, as expected of one who had not been exposed to the trends of society for years. He was barefoot. His hair looked as if it had been cut recently.

Wooyoung inched closer until he stood directly before the glass cage. He raised his hand to the glass, then pulled it away.

“Why am I here?” he asked again, more to himself than anyone else. And yet, it was as if the immortal heard every word.

His eyes opened and he stared straight into Wooyoung’s. The gaze therein was calm, but something beneath the winding irises spoke of sorrow and pain. His eyes were clear, a rich brown like the coat of a wild stallion. They met Wooyoung’s gaze with curiosity and dauntless purpose. Wooyoung could feel the skin on the back of his neck prickling with fear. 

“Why are you here?” His voice was soft and somewhat muffled by the glass.

Wooyoung stepped back. He clenched his fists and guarded his expression. “You can talk?”

The immortal smiled softly, “I am human, am I not?”

“You’re a monster.”

“Am I?”

The immortal seemed confused. He looked down at his hands, then back up at Wooyoung. He held himself with relaxed composure. 

“What have I done to make me a monster?” He asked, and his tone did not waver.

Wooyoung was speechless. He did not know this boy. He could not say anything besides what his father had told him. He could not bring proof to the table that this boy was any different than himself. He was an immortal, yes, but did that make him inhuman?

Yes, it did. Wooyoung told himself. He steals years from humans to live longer himself.

“You steal souls,” Wooyoung finally said. His tone was accusatory and angry. This boy could kill. Don’t be fooled by his innocent demeanor. “You take away the lives of others so you can live longer.”

The immortal laughed. His smile reminded Wooyoung of the younger boys at his school, attempting to seem sophisticated while still being amused by the antics of the olders. How could he be anything but human with that expression? The immortal continued to smile, and his eyes slowly glazed over, as if he were falling asleep once again. Wooyoung didn’t want him to fall asleep. He brought his hand to the glass and tapped once, then twice. The immortal looked up again, his eyes clearing.

“You’re a thief and a liar and a monster.” Wooyoung accused. “You would steal my life away from me if you could touch me.”

“Who told you this?” The immortal closed his eyes once more, but it was not in sleep, rather thought and consideration.

“My father,” Wooyoung answered, though he did not see how that applied.

“Ah, yes. The great war general Jung Joosong.” The immortal laughed again, an empty and curious laugh. “How long have you believed his words with all your heart?”

“All my life.” Wooyoung said proudly. What was not to believe? His father had given him a home and a family. What else was expected of a son rather than to trust and believe his father? “How do you know his name?”

“Joosong and I used to be friends,” the immortal said. “Until he separated me from my brothers and trapped me in this.”

“Your brothers?”

“Yes,” the immortal looked down at his hands again. “Have you seen them? Are they well?”

“I,” Wooyoung started, “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I would search for them myself, but…”

“Do you steal souls?” Wooyoung stepped back as he asked this. The words just sprang from his mouth and it surprised even him. Something had changed. He had seen sorrow in the immortal’s eyes. There was no menace, no evil intent. Nothing his father warned him of. “Don’t lie to me,” he insisted. “Who are you?”

The immortal regarded him calmly. “Do you believe everything your father tells you?”

Wooyoung had to think for a moment. He stepped back once more and sat down on the cold floor. If anyone else had asked that question, he would have answered right away, but the few moments that he had been talking with the immortal, something changed. He could feel the fear slipping away, replaced by a warm comfort, as if he knew this boy. As if he knew more than his father had told him. He was tired, and yet he could not sleep. He was awake, and yet he could not think. He needed answers. What had gone wrong at the Signs? What was wrong with him?

“You were there when the Signs was created, right?”

“I was.”

“Today was my first Signs. Something went wrong. I must have written something wrong.”

The immortal looked on curiously as Wooyoung explained what had happened at the Signs. He talked through the walk with his father to the building where the Signs was held. He illustrated the scene of the four proctors and the other three first Signs. When it came to the words he wrote on the page of his stack of blank papers, he paused. 

“I wrote about you.” Wooyoung stood. “Was that what I did wrong? Was I supposed to write about myself, about the world, anything but you? The proctor was so angry. He shouted at me, as if I had breached a subject that was not allowed to be spoken aloud or even written down.”

“What were the last words you wrote, before he stopped you?”

“I almost want to…” Wooyoung murmured.

“What is the end of that sentence?”

“I can’t,” Wooyoung stepped back. He was so close to the door now; he could leave, put this behind him, never see the immortal again, and move on with his life. He could, he could… “free him.” He breathed.

The immortal heard. “I am not what you think I am.”

Wooyoung came closer to the glass cage. “Why are you making me say these things? What are you?”

“My name is Yeosang. I have seven brothers, and I have been trapped behind glass for at least ten years. I do not know. I cannot count the hours because the walls block out the light. I estimate the time by when I am allowed to breathe anything else besides the gas within the glass. Your father has kept me in this cage for as long as you’ve lived with him.”

“Wait, you have seven brothers. How do you have seven brothers? Father said there were only seven immortals. You are one, that would mean there are only six others. Who is the eighth?”

“He has been missing for years.” The immortal, Yeosang, closed his eyes, as if he were remembering something. “But I have seen his face almost every day.”

“Who is it?” Wooyoung stepped up to the glass. Yeosang raised his hand and placed it flush against the glass. Wooyoung mirrored his movements.

“Do you believe everything your father tells you?”

“Give me a reason not to.”

“Get me out of here and I will show you.”

Wooyoung closed his eyes; his heart fluttered with anticipation. He had never broken glass with his fists, but this was as good a time as any. He balled his fist and pulled back, throwing a solid punch to the glass. It wavered, but did not break. He threw another punch and only succeeded in splitting the skin on his knuckles.

“Stop, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Wooyoung ignored Yeosang’s concern and walked past the glass cage. He stood beside one of the bust statuettes. 

“Stand aside.”

Yeosang pressed his back against the side glass wall. Wooyoung lifted the statuette from its pedestal. The adrenaline pumping through his veins gave him courage and strength unlike he had ever had before. Before he could blink, he heaved the stone bust up and towards the glass cage.

A terrifying silence followed in the few seconds it took for the bust to travel the meter between them. Then, like a hand through water, the stone bust crashed through the glass, shattering the clear crystal in its path. Yeosang was not touched by glass as it fell from its place, dropping like a waterfall without supports to contain the torrents. The glass cage collapsed.

The immortal was free.

His eyes were shining. He stepped out of the chaos of broken glass. He breathed deeply of the air untainted by intoxicating gas.

“Thank you, hyung.”


End file.
